


The Fallen Queen

by Sunnytyler001



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Baby!Fic, F/M, Happy Ending, queen!Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnytyler001/pseuds/Sunnytyler001
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>San/San story written for the comment fic meme on the sanxsan community on LJ. Here was the prompt: Sansa is Queen of Witerfell who gives birth to a bastard son. Sandor is not there to protect her from conspiring nobles that take her child away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: A song of ice and fire and is characters don't belong to me.

Chapter 1

Sansa couldn't sleep. All alone in her bed, the one they called "The Queen of Winter" felt restless.

What was she going to do? She couldn't… she wouldn't…

Oh, by the Seven, if only he was here. Her loyal Hound, her beloved Sandor.

He'd take her in his powerful arms and she'd feel safe. She'd be safe. They would be safe. He'd protect them.

She was not alone anymore- and that was the problem, wasn't it?

A problem! How in the Mother's name could she call her child a problem? Her wonderful baby- the fruit of such a magnificent love!

It was better than in the songs, because it was real.

Sansa let her hand rest on her belly. In that moment, she thought of her aunt Lyanna, pregnant with her cousin Jon while waiting for Rhaegar to come back to her in the Tower of Joy.

Lyanna waited for her Dragon Prince just like Sansa was waiting for her Hound.

Even after all that happened, even after all the drama and Petyr Baelish's tutoring, she couldn't help herself but hoping for a happy ending.

Her pup was inside her, protected by her… but once her child came into this world, they would take it from her. They had already warned her.

The Queen of the North pregnant with her Sworn shield's bastard! Such a scandal!

And, she guessed, they were right. What would her mother think if she was still alive? What would her younger self think of this? That haughty little girl who despised Jon Snow for being a bastard.

Was she still this girl, she'd would look at herself with so much contempt… or maybe she wouldn't? She'd perhaps see this fallen queen as the tragic heroin of one of her precious songs.

Such a silly girl.

Had it been silly to give herself to Sandor? To abandon herself to this burning passion?

Her bannermen didn't seem to forgive her sins. Sansa wanted to laugh at this. The hypocrites! Sandor would call them sanctimonious bastards, were he here. Nearly all of them had illegitimates sons. But they were men, weren't they? She was a woman, and so, this was different.

If only Sandor were here! Why did she send him away? Yes, yes, she knew why, of course. Her army needed an experienced leader. He was the best candidate.

If the Northern soldiers had happily accepted Sandor's help and even, thought more reluctantly, his leadership, they couldn't approve of their Queen's scandalous affair.

So while Sandor was fighting for one of Westeros' endless wars, Sansa had her own fight, against her own men.

What would they do with her child? Send it away? No, this was unacceptable! Its place was here, by her side. If her father could keep Jon, why couldn't she keep her baby?

Sansa sat in her bed, her hands playing nervously with the embroidered border of her woolen blanket.

And yet, everything had started so well! After masquerading as Petyr Baelish's daughter for what had felt like years, Ser Jaime, Sandor and the Maid of Tarth had found her and taken her from the Eyrie. Their path had crossed with Ser Bryden Tully, and then, after defeating Ser Robert Strong, all the Stark children were reunited.

Where were they now, her beloved brother and sisters? Arya was with Ser Gendry, travelling and playing knights somewhere in Westeros, and Bran and Rickon were under Ser Bryden's tutelage. Surely, Jon could help her… but he had never been very fond of Sandor, had he?

Once Jon and Danaerys Targaryen had been crowned king and queen of Westeros, Sansa's dreams had all became true.

They had a good and strong king on the throne, or so she had thought at the time- and a beautiful and brave queen by his side, and they had dragons!

It was just like in the songs!

Sansa, for her part, was mistress of her dear Winterfell and queen of the North. Sandor had accepted to stay with her as her sworn shield. The Northerners didn't seem to love him, but they respected his strength. Besides, he looked like one of them- Sansa supposed this helped a lot.

Everything was perfect.

Several of bannermen had asked for her hand, but, every time, the answer was negative. Some rumours had started, telling of how the queen didn't sleep alone at night, telling of the whispers of pleasure coming from her room when the castle was sleeping.

And then, it all went wrong. The remaining Boltons had reappeared, with an army, by earth and by sea, as Euron Greyjoy decided to ally himself with them.

Sandor had to leave with her army, leaving her all alone.

This was nine months ago.


	2. Chapter 2

So the war was over. If anyone had asked Sandor Clegane what he thought about this, he would have answered that it was bloody time.

He was tired of fighting and longed for a whole night of sleep in the arms of his little bird. He wanted to put down his head on her sweet chest before devouring her breasts. He wanted to taste her, to smell her flowery perfume once again.

He missed her smile, her laugh, the melodious sound of her voice.

The Gods be damned, he even missed her buggering lemon cakes!

He just missed her.

He had missed her before, when he was on the Quiet Isle, digging fucking graves the whole time. Every time he sank his shovel in the ground, he hoped he would be a step closer to forgetting her. But he never did.

And now they were lovers, his need of her had grown even more desperate. She was deep under his skin, deep inside his heart.

His love for her was more powerful than his hate for Gregor ever was, more powerful than his fear of fire.

He'd want to laugh at such thoughts, but if he were honest, he knew it was the truth. He also knew that, even after fighting side by side with the Northerners for nine months and gaining their full respect as their leader, he would never be able to marry Sansa.

Joff's old dog as King of the North? Of course, they were right, the idea was ridiculous.

So he'd stay by her side, in her bed. He'd please her every night, serve her as well as he could, protect her until his last breath. But he'd never see her with his cloak on her shoulder (no, that cloak was still in her hope chest, hidden under her summer silks), she'd never be pregnant with his pups…

Sandor sighed. Bugger it all! Where were those silly ideas from? The girl had the worst influence on him. Next time, he'd be willing to compete with Ser bloody Barristan and that fucking Onion-man for the title of true knight.

If she asked, he knew he would. Gods forbid, he'd do anything for his little bird.

He smiled and tried to picture her when he'd reach Winterfell. Would she have grown again? Would her breast be bigger? Her hips fuller? Would she wear his favourite dress? The blue one with loose sleeves and the wide cleavage?

What a view!

Sandor frowned. No, actually, he didn't want her to wear this dress. This view was for him and for him alone.

He wanted her for himself- at least, until Spring comes and her bloody Council forces her to choose a suitable husband.

Suitable, my ass! grumbled Sandor. Just because a man was born in a noble family didn't mean he was worthy of his little bird. No man was.

Not even him.

Beside him was Greatjon Umber- the last of the Umbers and the only one who remained loyal to the Starks when the rest of his honourable family had joined the fucking Boltons.

Had they not joined forces with the Lannisters, Sansa' precious Council might have tried to sell her to one of those flayers.

To imagine his little bird in the hands of those monsters was too much for Sandor. He kicked his horse to increase the speed of the animal. He couldn't wait to be home.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a cold winter morning but the whole court was outside, waiting for the Northern army to return home, as a raven had announced their upcoming arrival.

Sansa stood still, standing tall and straight, just like she had been taught years ago by Septa Mordane.

She was playing a part. Hadn't she been always doing that? Reciting lines, hiding her true feelings? She could only be herself with Sandor. But of course, their relationship was forbidden.

Her high lords had made it quite clear to her. She thought she was the queen of the North but truly? She was just a puppet. A pretty little doll they liked to show!

Gods knew she hadn't loved or ever trusted Petyr Baelish, but he had been right on one thing at least. She was a pawn, whether she liked it or not.

Sansa tried not to think of her child. Her son, little Eddard, who had been taken from her right after his birth.

They didn't even let her hold him. Not even once. Some of the women present in her room had gasped at the cruelty of such a punishment, but they said nothing. They let them take a child from his mother and did nothing to stop them.

Nothing.

What kind of women were they?

Sansa sighed. She closed her eyes an instant and took a long breath to calm her nerves before taking on her "Ice Queen" role.

But what was the point, really. No one bought her act anymore. Not after such a scandal. Everyone knew she was the "Hound's whore".

A part of her wanted to hide, to become a little mouse and run away. This was Sansa, the little bird, frail and weak. The Queen of Winter would not behave that way. She despised such thoughts and would not show them her despair.

Her screams when they had taken Eddard had been enough.

When Sandor had left to go to war, Sansa had felt a bit lonely in her bed. A bit cold too.

So she kept herself occupied with the affairs of the state. Her high lords were quite surprised by so much zeal. Some thought she was mad, some thought she simply had so empty a life there was nothing else but her duties.

They tried to marry her again but, every time, she found a way to change the subject, asking if they had news from the front or if one of her subjects had made any request.

Her council found strange that such a beautiful lady would not want a husband. Some started to think she was frigid or just liked the company of women better.

When she heard those rumours, Sansa couldn't help but laughing out loud. She was quite sure Sandor would have found them quite funny too.

Her people seemed to love her and forgive her for her Lannister wedding. They cheered at her happily and showed constantly their trust and their loyalty to their new queen.

This was such a change from King's landing's hateful mob!

At that time, Sansa had thought she was a desperate cause. She had firmly believed no one would ever love her.

How wrong she had been!

Or maybe it was just Sandor's love, making her shine with happiness.

"When you're happy, it shows and people will come to you more easily" Septa Mordane had once said. Well, maybe she had been right.

Sansa shivered. She felt cold and so empty. She was playing with her hands to keep from touching her flat belly.

Eddard. Oh, Eddard! Where are you now? It felt like losing her father again. Maybe that name was back luck?

Sansa didn't remember what had exactly happened. Had she forgotten to drink her moon tea? No, no, she was quite sure she did. How in the name of the Mother had it not worked?

Maester Dewey had told her it was maybe because of the worry, the excitement of the war. Maybe it was just the Gods' will. Or maybe was it because she wanted it.

Had she wanted that baby? If she was honest, she knew she had. With all her heart.

Yes, she wanted to get married. Yes, she wanted a man in her bed. And by the old gods and the new, yes, she wanted to bear his child.

But she also knew she couldn't have the man she wanted.

Sansa had taken quite an important decision after their first night together. Sandor would be her one and only, and that was it. She had been engaged too many times. She had also been married to a very nice man- but as much as she respected Tyrion, she would never be in love with him.

And she would never be in love with whatever noble lord the council would choose for her. Bran or Rickon could be her heir. Or one of Arya's sons, if she ever married Ser Gendry.

But, for her part, Sansa would be a queen without a king.

A sort of maiden queen.

Maiden! Quite a jest, really, after the nights of passionate love she had shared with Sandor. However the people, and most importantly the High lords and her council, should believe so.

Keeping the secret had not been a problem as Littlefinger had taught her well to lie, but when her pregnancy started to show, despite her loose dresses, the scandal had been dreadful.

She hadn't even needed to tell them who her lover was. They knew. Of course they did.

She had been a fool to think they didn't when her ladies-in-waiting were all their relatives.

They didn't insult her. No need of words- whore, bitch, harlot… It was all in their looks of disgust.

Sansa felt this was even worse than King's landing and the false knights' blows.

She had disappointed them.

She felt like a scolded child.

Who did those men take themselves for? She was the queen! Couldn't she do whatever she wanted?

No, of course not! Sansa knew this very well. She hadn't even needed Petryr's lessons to know that.

They were at war. They needed allies. More than that, they needed the respect of their allies. If the other kingdoms' lords heard of her "disgrace", she would be seen as a new Cersei. A new "whore queen".

It didn't matter that she wasn't married, that Sandor was not her brother. The scandal was as great and as disastrous for the kingdom.

Margaery would understand. Arianne Martell would just call her foolish and clumsy.

As for Dany… Dany might be on her side…If only she was there. But Jon? Would Jon forgive? Her cousin had become so intransigent since he had become Lord of the Seven kingdoms…

The high lords of the North had treated their queen like a pariah, like a woman of little virtue, for the whole nine months.

And every night, before going to sleep, Sansa said a prayer to the Warrior, begging him to hasten Sandor's return.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sandor and his men reached Winterfell, they were quite surprised. As they were victorious, they were expecting those buggering wolf-people to cheer at them, rejoice, throw bloody flowers or whatever wolf-maids throw at their knights to show their joy.

The only things that were thrown at Sandor were reproachful looks.

What in the seven hells was this about? Were those Northerners as cold as their fucking weather?

The procession stopped in front of the high lords of the North.

The silence reigned over the wide yard.

Sandor threw a look backwards at his men. He wasn't the only one to feel seriously awkward about this.

This wasn't a way to welcome a victorious army. Sansa was going to hear from him about this.

Greatjon too didn't seem at ease. The old wolf was frowning darkly, obviously as much troubled as he was.

And then, he saw her.

Gods, she was beautiful. Just like in his memories. He couldn't say if she was wearing her blue dress as she had her grey fur cloak on her, and as the weather was buggering cold, he couldn't blame her.

Her hair was framing her face, like some magical weaves of fire and her eyes…

Bugger it. Something was truly wrong.

They weren't his little bird's eyes. Those were Alayne's. Cold and distant, wearing her bloody mask.

What in the seven hells had happened during his absence?

When one of her bloody lords put his paw on her, Sandor wanted to cut the bastard's arm off, but Greatjon made him a sign to stay calm.

He was right. If he wanted his little bird back, it wasn't the moment to lose his cold blood. Sandor tried to think of one of the Elder brother's advice concerning his temper but none came to his mind.

The sound of Sandor and Greatjon dismounting broke the silence.

Sansa- no Alayne, bloody, fucking Alayne- took a few steps in their directions and offered them a smile.

A fake smile, not one of his little bird's smiles. Sansa's smile was the brightest thing in the seven kingdoms. It gave him strength, it gave him hope. It made him feel loved.

Alayne's smile made him want to scream and kill someone.

"My lords" said the queen as she greeted them.

Greatjon bowed while Sandor just shrugged unhappily.

The queen made a gesture showing them they could follow her inside the castle.

Once she had her back turned at him, the Hound grumbled "I am no lord."

Suddenly, the lady of Winterfell stopped walking and turned briskly in his direction, her face barely holding an anger Sandor couldn't understand.

For an instant, he could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes.

"Oh, that, I know, Hound. Believe me, I know."

Sandor grabbed her arm, wanting to get answers. He was looking deep into her eyes now. She was hiding something. They all were.

After a moment, Sansa diverted her gaze from his. Her high lords were pointing their swords at him.

Ha! Like those sons of sorry wolf-bitches could take him down.

Just like he would hurt his little bird. But she was hurt, wasn't she? During his absence, something had happened and now, she was broken again.

Now, all Sandor wanted was to take her in his arms and hold her. He wanted nothing more than to pet her hair and kiss her worries away.

However, the buggering lords would not let him approach her. They were forcing him to keep some distance from his bird.

Sandor was furious, but he knew that, tonight, they wouldn't be there. No one could keep him from her room.

He'd caress her, kiss her, nibble her neck and her breasts. He'd tear apart her nightdress before throwing her on the bed. He'd take her gently, then passionately. He'd take her again and again until she told him what in the seven buggering hells happened.

Sansa was now sitting on her father's throne, surrounded by her lords.

She started talking. Her voice clear, composed. She was reciting lines again, his poor bird. If she was afraid, she was not showing it. She had become better at lying. That bastard Baelish did a good job indeed.

Sandor told himself he should be proud, but if he were honest, he didn't like it.

"My lords. Sers. In the names of the people of the North, I thank you for your fighting. Your victory has freed us from a great threat and allows our people to share your glory. A great feast will take place tonight, in your honour."

Sandor's men started cheering and the uncomfortable welcome seemed to be forgotten.

Forgotten by the soldiers, but not by Sandor.

"As for you- the two generals of the Northern troops" continued the queen, as she spoke to the Hound and Greatjon Umber "you will be rewarded"

Greatjon closed his eyes a moment and smiled happily. Obviously, the old wolf had a moment for himself, maybe thinking of one of his battles with the Young Wolf and of how it would have been without the Freys and their bloody Wedding.

"My queen, I don't deserve anything. I only did my duty."

Sansa offered him a smile. A real one, this time. This gave hope to Sandor for the night.

"And yet, I think that you do, Lord Umber. I know that some of your family allied themselves with the Boltons. You lost a lot in the war and yet, you remained loyal to my family. Well, you can consider yourself as part of this family. You have my entire trust. I know that you lost your castle at Last Hearth?"

"Yes, milady. The High council took it back when some Umbers favoured the Boltons instead of the Starks" admitted the old man, knee to the ground and head bowed in front of his queen.

"Well, you can consider it as yours once again." said the queen happily.

"Thank you, my queen. Thank you!" The Old wolf stood up as quickly as if he had been a pup and started cheering: "Long live the queen!"

All the soldiers, Sandor included, took back in chorus "Long live the queen!"

Sansa seemed so happy, looking at her people, loving her, chanting her praises. But then, her eyes fell on Sandor and once again, the Hound thought he saw tears in her eyes- and those were not tears of happiness.

Sansa threw a little look towards her counselors, but those bastards seemed unwilling to help her.

The young queen seemed uncertain, breathing heavily. Sandor could see her biting her lips nervously. Those wonderful lips. He should be the one biting them. Devouring them.

"As for you, Hound, I know you don't want lordship."

Some of the soldiers laughed at the jest. Everyone knew Sandor Clegane was not one for knighthood or lordship. But the Northerner soldiers had still learned to respect him as their leader.

"All I can offer you, apart from our friendship and our eternal gratitude, is money and a new armor. I know you are not a man to stay long at the same place, so this is the only thing I can give to you, before our farewells."

She had talked fast and without looking in his eyes.

So that was it. Her buggering, fucking high lords were forcing her to send him away? To kick him out like the dog he was?

They had most likely learnt of their affair during his absence. The idea of a dog sleeping in their wolf- queen's bed was not to their taste.

He could understand their point but there was no way in the fucking seven hells he was going to let them take his little bird from him.

Dog or not.


	5. Chapter 5

The look of hurt and betrayal on his face was killing her.

Of course, the feeling of pure despair and unstoppable pain when they had taken Eddard from her had been worse.

It had been like having one of her limbs ripped from her body.

But this- this was the end of her. It was too much.

This was the final blow.

Sansa felt her whole body starting to shake.

In her mind, she could see herself jumping from her father's throne, running into Sandor's arms.

She could feel him embracing her. She could feel the smooth skin of his leather coat under her hands. She could smell his masculine scent as she'd nuzzle his neck. She could feel his lips devouring hers as he'd kiss her passionately.

But that was just a dream.

When would she stop dreaming? Hadn't she lost enough because of this dreadful habit?

The high lords were right, weren't they? Her affair with him had been a mistake.

Had she been just a girl, an ordinary girl…

Had she stayed Alayne Stone, she could have married him. She could have kept Eddard. She could have been happy.

But she was the queen, she had duties. She didn't belong to herself, but to the state.

Once upon a time, legends said there was a queen who had legitimized her bastard son. But this queen's kingdom was stronger and richer than the North was right now, after years of war and several long periods of hardship.

Also her position as queen was unwavering.

Some of the high lords didn't take her seriously as she was still very young- and worse, an unmarried woman! The scandal, of course, hadn't helped.

Even with Petyr's lessons, she had still much to learn to become powerful enough to send her council and high lords to the seventh hell and do as she pleased.

Deep inside, Sansa wanted to scream. She wanted to take Sandor's sword and kill her whole council.

A little bird killing a pack of power-hungry wolves? Ridiculous idea, wasn't it? This was a story worthy of a song. Things like those didn't happen in real life.

Rebellion died in Sansa's heart and was replaced with the numbness of true defeat.

She couldn't look at Sandor. She couldn't even look at Lord Umber.

What would Sandor think of her when he learned the truth? Would he think her a bad mother, letting them take their son, as she was a traitor to their love for letting them separate them?

Would he lose any love he had left for her then?

Maybe he'd be happier for it.

Maybe he'd take the money Winterfell gave to him, go back to his father's land, rebuild his ancestors' castle. He'd find a woman, a good woman who would love him as he deserved to be loved- openly, freely, without any secret meetings. She'd be his wife in front of everyone and in front of the gods and would give him true-born sons and daughters.

He'd be happy, then.

If she truly loved him as she said she did, she should be happy for him to.

She wanted to, but she couldn't. It was asking too much of her.

Maybe Arya had been right. Maybe she was selfish and immature.

A bad person.

Unworthy of being Robb's heir. Unworthy of sitting on her father's throne.

Her son would be a bastard, and nothing more. They will call him Eddard Snow and for the rest of his life, he would be looked upon with disgust.

They might send him to the Wall. Maybe he'd find his place there.

No. That wasn't his place. Eddard's place was by her side, at Winterfell. Just like Sandor's.

Sansa's eyes were heavy. Her heart and her soul were broken. She didn't know exactly how she was able to stop her tears from falling. She was so tired.

She closed her eyes an instant. When she reopened them, Sandor was leaving.

Sansa couldn't stop herself. She stood up and screamed "Sandor".

The Hound turned around, watching her intently. His beautiful gray eyes meeting her blue ones.

She couldn't read them anymore. Did he still love her? Did he blame her for his exile from Winterfell? Did he already know of Eddard? Did he hate her?

Sansa couldn't breathe anymore. Her head was spinning madly. She couldn't fight the tears anymore. They were falling freely on her pale cheeks. She was barely standing on her shaking legs.

She could hear her heart pounding in her ears and her sight began to blur.

She managed to whisper "I love you" before everything went black.


	6. Chapter 6

SEVEN BUGGERING HELLS.

Those bastards didn't even let him approach her. His poor little bird lying on the cold hard ground.

He wanted to run to her, tell her that it was all right, that he understood. He wanted to tell her that he'd come back, sooner or later. Those bloody wolves wouldn't separate them.

They won a battle, yeah, they did. Enjoy your victory, Sers, because you haven't won the bloody war yet.

Sandor felt restless. He had left Winterfell- kicked out of the castle like the dog he was- but he was still in the fucking North.

And he'd stay. Like it or not, gentlemen, but I'm bloody staying!

Greatjon Umber had welcomed him into his newly reacquired home and for that, the Hound was grateful.

But the look on his friend's face as he opened the door told him the news weren't good.

Once they had arrived at Last Heart, the Old Wolf had asked one of his men to run back to Winterfell and find out what had happened during their absence.

Obviously, he had his answers- Why in the seven hells was he afraid to tell him? Was it that bad?

"Come on, Umber! What are you expecting? The return of the Great Other? Tell me, damn it!"

Sandor saw the one who had been his brother-in-arms for nine months observe him for a long moment- as if he were weighing the pros and cons of confessing to him whatever happened in that fucking snow castle

The old wolf sighed in defeat and remained seated, slumped in his armchair in front of the fireplace.

"Well, Hound, I really don't know how to tell you what I've learnt. If I were at your place, knowing what I do, I'd start another war… And as you and me, we share a lot in common…"

Greatjon shot him a smile, waiting his answer. Yes, they had a lot in common. The same bloodlust while fighting, the same appetite, the same bawdy jokes.

But that was not a reason to make him bloody wait. Hadn't this lasted enough? He wanted his fucking answers and this buggering wolf, friend or not, was going to give them to him or he'd throw him through his fucking window. With his damn chair.

Sandor started growling and the smile on Lord Umber's face faded.

"I'm warning you, Sandor. You're not going to like it."

"I already know that" answered angrily the Hound. "Now tell me"

"You and the queen were lovers."

Grey eyes met grey eyes. A hound doesn't lie, and, obviously, his secret affair with Sansa wasn't a secret anymore. The damage was done. And bloody well done, Sandor thought, as the image of his bird fainting, screaming his name, crossed his mind.

"As you can guess, the Council was not happy about it. They were not happy but they feared you. And they had no proof."

Sandor smirked at this. They could have asked a septa to check if their Ice queen was as icy as she seemed to be, but he would have torn off the old owl's arm before she could even think about touching Sansa's cunt. It was his and his only.

"They had no proof, until it started showing…"

The Hound frowned at this friend's words. Surely it couldn't mean what he thought…

"Sansa was pregnant, Sandor. When you left, she was with child."

The truth hit Sandor like an enemy's blow.

Suddenly, he felt numb. He needed to drink. A lot. The Elder brother and his wise advices could go to hell for all he cared.

Sansa. His little bird. Pregnant! With his pup.

That was too much for him. Sandor felt his heart filling itself with pride and joy.

But then, he saw her, pale and lonely, surrounded by those sanctimonious wolf-bastards.

She didn't stand a chance, his poor bird.

If only he had known, he would have left the battlefield at once, jumped on Stranger's back and ran back to her. He would have taken in his arms and caressed her tears away.

He knew Sansa loved Winterfell and belonged there but if those idiots didn't want of her, well, he'd have her in his father's castle, as his lady wife.

The West was not as bloody cold as the North and the country was lovely. She'd be happy there with him and their pup. Pups. Plural. They'd make a nice little pack, his wolf-bird and he.

Yes, he was going back to Winterfell and he was going to steal away their queen.

Good plan.

Stupid plan.

In his defense, that plan had worked before. He had stolen her away from Petyr fucking Baelish. But he was masquerading as a holy brother and he had Gold-paw as back-up.

Now he was alone.

"This should have been a moment of happiness. I should be congratulating you. I should have gone with you to the tavern and we should already be drunk, celebrating the birth of your son…"

Sandor hadn't listened to his friend but the last word blew up in his ear. A son. Gods, she had given him a son.

Of course, he would have loved a daughter. A clever little girl, with grey eyes and auburn hair, who would be all courtesies and sweetness.

But a boy? Gods, what man didn't dream to have a son? Hell, with Sansa as his mother, the boy was most likely fated to be the one true knight of Westeros.

No way in the seven hells he'd let them call his son a bastard.

"She screamed …"

Sandor's thought stopped suddenly at this.

Greatjon Umber was watching him again, an incredible pain in his old eyes.

"They said the whole bloody North could hear her screams when they took the child."

There was another terrible sound the North most likely heard. It was the thunder the Hound's fists did as they hit the table.

"I've heard enough. They will pay. The whole bloody lot of them."

Greatjon Umber smirked and nodded.

"I was expecting this reaction. Hoping it, if I'm honest. Sansa is Ned Stark's daughter. Robb's sister. And my queen. I'll defend her, whatever the price."

Sandor Clegane approved and shacked his friend's hand in a sign of alliance.

"But my boy, what have they done with him?" asked Sandor with worry

"Whatever happens to royal bastards when the queen is the guilty one, He'll have been sent away- and far away so the boy never learns who his mother was."

The old wolf shrugged and poured himself a glass of wine.

"Don't know where they sent him to tell you the truth. But the High Council has servants. It won't be difficult to make the rats talk."

Sandor stood up, high as the Stranger, his face darker than the god of Death. That was it. The bastards were all going to die. He'd make them talk- them, the very noble high lords who had make his bird cry. Then, he'd gut them alive. He'd cut them into pieces and give their bones to the wolves.

"Where are you going?" asked Greatjon, trying to stop him.

As if anyone could stop him now from wrecking a bloody slaughter and taking back his bird from the Council's ugly paws.

"You need a plan, Hound. Even if you're angry- and the gods know I can understand- you need a plan."

"I know. But I have no allies here, anyway."

Something passed on his friend's face that looked like offence. It was actually the first time the Hound ever saw such an expression on the old man's face. Of course, even after those nine months of fighting side by side, he couldn't say he knew Greatjon Umber that well. Maybe the veteran had sensibilities, after all. However, Sandor Clegane had never apologized to anyone- not even to Sansa for that dreadful night in King's landing so many years ago- and he had other priorities right now.

"You are a great warrior, Hound, no doubt. But you are also the worst idiot I've ever seen!" barked the old wolf.

Sandor turned in his friend's direction, ready to throw him out of the window.

"What?"

"Yes, yes you are. And don't make that face. You don't scare me- not even a little bit. I've seen worse than you. I am an old man- you're just a pup compared to me. So shut up and listen."

The Hound was taken aback. No one had ever talked to him this way. Maybe Sansa would have, if he had been there when she was pregnant with their son. They say women have strange moods when they are with child.

Obviously, Greatjon was not pregnant. Just extremely stubborn.

"If you had gotten the queen pregnant before the war, no one would have wanted to help you. Even I would have been on the High council's side. After all, you're no Northerner. But, you're a general of the Northern army now. A victorious general, Hound. Do you know what this mean?"

Sandor sighed deeply and let himself fall in the armchair next to Greatjon's.

"Have you seen you how the good people of Winterfell welcomed us?" asked Sandor sarcastically. "I've fucked their queen and made her pregnant with my bastard. I've dishonoured her- and though her, them. They hate me."

"Do you think so? Or do you think they were following the Council's orders?"

The Hound shrugged impatiently. Maybe the old wolf had a point.

"And besides, the soldiers respect you. They see you as their general, as their leader. You know, before the Starks, some of the Northern kings were victorious generals."

What in the seven hells had he in mind? This was the most fanciful idea he had ever heard. Even the little bird in King's landing, with her head full of shinning knight and pretty ladies had been more down-to-earth than this. And that was saying a lot.

"You have the army by your side and ready to fight. The people love their queen and I'm sure they'd be quite happy to get rid of this bloody Council. Conquer Winterfell- it will be yours. Yours to give to the queen. You both would be free to get married then. And to find your pup."

Sandor stayed silent a long moment, as the ideas rushed through his mind.

Fanciful. Yes, it was. But it was also their best option.

Take Winterfell back. Give it to Sansa. Marry her.

King Sandor. Seven bloody hells.

Despite his great dislike of the idea, Sandor couldn't help but smile.

King Sandor- the little bird was going to like this, for sure.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa was terrified. When she had seen the Northern army approaching Winterfell with Sandor at their head, her heart had started to pound in her chest.

He was coming back for her. He was going to rescue her.

But if she could guess this, so could the Council.

And they did act quite quickly. Of course, they knew that time wasn't on their side. They didn't have enough soldiers- only a few royal guards and some of their bannermen, present for the victory feast.

Lord Cerwyn's hand felt like an iron grip on her arm. She wanted nothing more than to push him and run to Sandor, but he was too strong. There was no way she could escape.

Sandor might be close, but nothing had changed for her.

"At least you could tell me what you've done with him?" asked Sansa calmly.

The Council member turned his head sharply.

"Who?"

"Eddard. Please, I'm begging you, my lord. Tell me what you have done with him."

Sansa didn't see it coming. Unexpectedly, Lord Cerwyn's free hand fell harshly on her cheek. The queen fell on her knees, head bowed, in front of the man who was supposed to be her vassal.

Nervously, Sansa started biting her lips and realized her lower lip had spilt. It was King's landing all over again. She wished she had still the old handkerchief Sandor had given her back then.

She did still have it, actually, but not here. It stayed in her bed, under her pillow since he had offered it to her so gallantly. Sandor had snorted at this wretched souvenir, but she knew that, deep inside his heart, he was touched.

"You little whore" Lord Cerwyn roared "How dare you speak of your bastard! He's your shame and should be forgotten. But if Your Majesty wants the truth, we threw him to the wolves, that's all that little dirt deserved"

The words echoed in Sansa's mind. It seemed that her whole head was on fire. Suddenly, her eyes caught the shining blade of a knife, attached loosely to the lord's belt.

With dexterity and strength she didn't know she had, Sansa took the knife and threw herself at Lord Cerwyn.

He had it coming and he certainly didn't see it coming. Sansa started stabbing him again and again and again. She thought of her little boy in the snow, all alone. She thought of the wild beasts surrounding him, devouring him, their sharp teeth ripping his tender flesh.

How could they? They had no heart, she already knew that. But throwing a baby to the wolves? How could they?

Tears were falling on her cheeks, as she kept on stabbing her opponent. If the man had tried to defend himself, she didn't realize it- she had certainly took him by surprise and now his eyes were icy, just like his heart had been.

Sansa felt like she ought to be horrified by her crime. She should have been seeking water or some perfume from Dorne to wash her hands, but, if she was honest, she felt no regret.

After all, it wasn't the first time her hands had been full of a man's blood. Sandor never knew- and Sansa hoped he would never learn the truth- but it was she who had killed Petyr Baelish.

He had wanted to rape her and she had put a sword through him.

Only Arya knew. And the secret had united the sisters who had been once so distant from each other.

Sansa also knew she ought to close her victim's eyes. The only thing she wanted right now was to kick his corpse.

Her little Eddard…

It was as she could hear her boy's screams- he was calling her, begging for his mother. And all this time, his murderers had been sitting at her table, drinking her wine, taking important decisions for her kingdom.

Maybe it wasn't them who had killed her son. Maybe it was her weakness. Arya would have never tolerated this.

Sansa's thoughts were interrupted by a terrible rumbling. Sandor's men had broken the first defenses along with the castle's door.

Now, the real battle was about to begin.

Sansa sighed and closed her eyes a moment. Brother against brother. Cousin against cousin. Childhood friend against childhood friend.

And all because of her.

She wiped her bloody hands against her grey dress and started running. If any of the high lords saw her like this, they would know what she did and they would be pitiless.

Just like they were with her son.

So she was running, head down in the foolish hope people wouldn't recognize her. She had still Lord Cerwyn's knife - if ever she had to fight, she would die with a weapon in her hand. Her ancestors' shadows would be proud of her, at last.

Suddenly, she bumped into a dark huge form, stopping her from going further.

Sansa made a few steps backwards before starting to run in the other direction. But the knight- or whoever this was- grabbed her arm and forced her to face him.

"Going somewhere, little bird?"


	8. Chapter 8

Sandor had never been happier in his whole life. Even during his childhood, before Gregor destroyed his face, he had never felt as light as he did now.

His little bird was in front of him. Of course, her hair was undone and her eyes were puffy from too much crying but she was alive and safe now. As far as Sandor was concerned, that was all that mattered. The bastards who made her cry would pay a harsh price for all her tears.

The Hound engulfed Sansa in a warm embrace, feeling her weak breath and her wet cheek against his neck.

Aye, they were all going to die. No one made his little bird cry. He still felt guilty for not defending her in King's landing. He had a hard time accepting it but maybe Tyrion had been right, maybe he had been less than half a man back then. Not for refusing to go into that green hell the Imp had created, but for letting those buggering knights hurt his woman.

His woman. His. She would be his now. Officially. Whether some liked it or not. Sandor tightened his grip on her and buried his face in her hair. Even now, in the middle of a bloody fight, she smelt like honey and flowers and Spring and all the things that are good.

Gods, she was sobbing again, his poor bird.

Sandor caressed slowly her back, trying to appease her. With all the delicacy he could manage, he held her chin between his fingers and wiped her tears away.

Sansa hiccupped between two tears and, weakly, opened her beautiful eyes.

Some men looked all their lives for treasures, but Sandor would have given up all the kingdoms in the world for those two sapphires.

"Oh my love, I am so ashamed"

Sandor stiffened. Why would his little bird be ashamed? It was hardly her fault if those buggering wolves had taken control of her castle.

As Sansa's whole body started to shake, he realized her hands and her dress were covered with blood.

The Hound inspected her quickly. Not her blood; that was a good thing. But if she had killed someone, it meant she had been attacked.

Those traitors had dared laying their hands on his bird! On their queen!

Suddenly, Sandor imagined the worst scenario. What if one of them had raped her? He would have ripped the bastard's head off with his own hands. But obviously, whatever happened, Sansa had done the dirty work by herself.

She was no bird, he forgot that way too often. She was a wolf, Sandor thought proudly.

"What happened?" Sandor asked with worry.

Sansa lowered her eyes- this was a bad sign if she didn't dare looking at him.

"I'm so ashamed." Sansa repeated, her voice trembling.

"Yes, you bloody said that already" Sandor didn't want to frighten her, but the anxiety was starting to eat him up. "What happened, Sansa? Answer me, girl!"

The poor bird started to shake again, unable to control her tears.

Sandor sighed in defeat. The Elder Brother would know what to do. He'd tell him what to do. No screaming at her, first. The girl was in shock. Whatever those bastards had done to her, that was enough.

If he wanted to be her husband, he needed to be supportive

Gods, he was bad at this. He needed a drink.

Hesitantly, Sandor put an arm around her shoulders, trying somehow to give her some comfort.

It seemed to work, as Sansa threw herself at his neck, her little body pressing itself against his.

The Hound tried not to think about her womanly curves and how they seemed to affect his cock. It was not the right time for this, as much as he wanted it.

Sandor cupped Sansa's cheek and tenderly placed a kiss on her lips.

Sansa let a shuddering breath escape her and let her head rest on his chest.

"So, are you going to tell me now?" he asked again.

The little bird nodded weakly and sat down on a window sill. Her gaze seemed lost in the landscape. Sandor asked himself if she was still here, with him, or outside, looking for someone.

Looking for their son, maybe? Perhaps that was why she was 'ashamed'? Ashamed to have given birth to a bastard?

"I know about our pup, little bird." Sandor said, trying to comfort Sansa again.

Sharply, Sansa turned her head in his direction. She seemed surprised and pained too.

"Do you?" she asked softly.

Sandor smiled and kneeled in front of her. They were talking again. That was good. Or so people said.

"Yes, I know. Greatjon told me. We've got a son but they took him from you. I'll find him, Sansa. You've got my word."

Sansa started crying again, shaking her head dramatically. What in the Seven hells was wrong again? What did he say?

"No, you can't, you can't Sandor."

The look of despair Sansa threw at him made Sandor's blood freeze in his veins.

Surely, she couldn't mean… But he knew better, didn't he? Hadn't he killed women and children in his past? He was only following orders but it didn't take the horror from his acts.

He thought of Arya's little friend. Mickey… no, Micah. Aye, poor little Miccah. He had been pitiless back then. He had been a hunting hound and the boy had been his prey. He hadn't thought of the boy's father.

It was the Gods' punishment.

But Sansa was not guilty of such crimes. His little bird had not deserved this.

By sleeping with him, by bearing his pup, it seemed that she was fated to share his bad luck.

It was his fault.

He'd better leave before he brought her more misfortune.

However, Sansa was back in his arms now, her little claws firmly hooked at his mail coat.

He didn't deserve her.

Sandor felt selfish, as he knew that he couldn't live without her. She was in his blood. He'd die if he had to leave her.

"They threw him to the wolves. My baby. My little baby. They threw him to the wolves." Sansa said, sobbing again.

Sandor felt anger rising inside him.

The hell with the Gods. This was not the work of the Seven, this was the work of men. Men like him. Bloody bastards who didn't deserve to live.

He would kill them all, even if this was the last thing he did on this earth.


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa had fallen asleep, lulled by the steady beatings of Sandor's heart.

She dreamt that the last few years had been nothing more than an awful nightmare.

Her father and her mother were still alive, their smiles were the warmest thing in the world. Robb had still married Jeyne, but their union didn't not end in bloodshed.

No. They were happy, alive, together. Jeyne was even pregnant with their first born.

Arya, Bran and Rickon were playing in the courtyard, fighting with sticks and pretending they were knights.

But Sandor was nowhere to be seen. Sansa looked for him everywhere. She searched every room from every tower, every little corner.

No Sandor.

So she asked her father where her sworn shield was.

At this question, Eddard Stark's face changed. It was not her father's anymore. It was Lord Cerwyn's.

Sansa tried escaping him, but the man was too strong. He started hitting her again, each blow coming with a new insult: "whore, bitch, harlot…"

She screamed again and again, begging her aggressor to stop.

Suddenly, Sansa felt two powerful hands on her arms, shaking her firmly.

She opened her eyes and woke up.

"Another nightmare, little bird?"

Sansa smiled, her heart filled with a tremendous happiness. He was here, sitting on her bed, his hands sliding from her arms to her neck, to her face, caressing her slowly.

She placed herself in his lap, trying to take a seductive pose. She started nuzzling his neck, her lips kissing and biting him softly while her hands were roaming on his broad chest.

The Hound tightened their embrace, taking control of their lovely reunion. His warm mouth devoured hers with a passion Sansa realized she needed, mostly after all that happened. To forget everything in the arms of the man she loved. Maybe this was the antidote to the unstoppable sadness that was eating at her heart.

"Well, I wish you a good morning too, Lady Sansa" Sandor said quite gallantly.

Oh! He wanted to play the gallant knight, now? That was new. But the smug smirk on his face was betraying his not-so-honourable intentions.

"Good morning, my lord." Sansa replied, blushing as Sandor's hands reached her breasts under her nightgown.

"I am a lord indeed."

Sansa frowned. That was not the correct answer. He was supposed to say "I am no Lord", as he always did. She felt even more lost when Sandor started laughing. Obviously, her astonishment entertained him very much.

"Yes, little bird, you heard right. I'm a lord now. A warlord to be specific, the Lord of Winterfell."

Sansa's heart started to pound madly in her heart. Winterfell was theirs? They had defeated the Council? And, oh gods, this was a miracle, Sandor had finally accepted lordship?

She couldn't believe it. Sandor as a lord! Sansa giggled like a little girl and applauded.

"Do you realize what this means?" she asked.

Sandor's smile warmed her heart and her soul. Everything seemed brighter, nicer. Her mind seemed to sing beautiful songs of happily ever after. The future seemed welcoming. At last.

"Yes, little bird, I do"

Sansa jumped in his arms and gave him a messy kiss. It was a very unlady-like thing to do, but she couldn't contain her excitement anymore.

"You see, little bird," Sandor said between kisses "Winterfell is mine now. But the Lords are expecting me to give it back"

Sansa stopped suddenly, surprised and worried. Give it back? To who? Certainly not to the Council, she hoped.

"Winterfell had a queen and they want me to give her her castle back. Now, it would be a bit unfair, if she'd get her castle back and I'd get nothing in return, don't you think little bird?"

His fingers were stroking her in places she didn't dare naming without blushing. But gods, did it feel good. Sansa started to moan as his thumb reach a certain spot that usually pleased her the most.

"And what would you want in return for your services?" Sansa asked breathlessly.

"Oh, I'm just a dog, me! Maybe a kiss?"

Sansa smiled and granted him his price.

"Anything else, my lord?"

At these words, Sandor gently laid Sansa upon her bed, his body covering hers.

"I could ask for a good warm bed. Preferably with a beautiful woman inside" he continued while kissing her.

Sansa nodded in agreement and spread her legs for him.

This was the man who would share her bed and her life for the rest of her days.

If only little Eddard had survived, her happiness would have been without equal.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS FOR A DANCE WITH DRAGONS!!!!

Two months later, Queen Sansa was in bed. The maester had informed her she was pregnant and had ordered her to take some rest. When the Lord consort came into her room, he had a huge smile on his face.

"You should call one of your handmaidens and dress up. There is a surprise waiting for you in the keep"

Sansa was excited as she always loved her husband's gifts. Would it be a new dress? Lemoncakes? Or a puppy? Maybe it was a visit from Arya and her friend Ser Gendry?

She hoped her sister and her husband would not get into one of their arguments again. Every time, it was quite an awkward situation for her and her sister's paramour.

Arya would of course deny Ser Gendry was her beloved. But it was obvious to Sansa. She had actually already prepared Arya's maiden cloak.

Oh, she would look so lovely! And wasn't it a curious but lovely coincidence that the Baratheon and the Clegane colours were the same?

When Sansa arrived in the keep, a woman was waiting for her. But it was not Arya. A man was with her. A tall thin man with white hair.

Both seemed strangely familiar to Sansa but she couldn't say why.

Suddenly, a baby started to cry and his screams tore at the queen's heart. While she was very happy with Sandor, she would never forget her son. Every time she heard or saw a baby, she thought sadly about him. It was stronger than her. Possibly, the birth of her new child would appease her pain. Or so she hoped.

Sansa turned in the baby's cries direction and saw Sandor with him in his arms.

The toddler was not more than two or three months old and had black hair and blue eyes.

The queen's heart stopped in her chest. Could it be? No, her eyes were deceiving her. It was impossible.

Sansa turned to face her visitors. Who were they?

The young woman curtsied in front of her while her companion had already a knee to the ground.

"Your Majesty. Maybe you don't remember us, it has been years since we saw each other."

That voice! She knew it! Aye, she knew it. That voice had sung silly songs about gallant knights and fair ladies with her.

Jeyne Poole, her childhood friend. She had disappeared in King's landing on that fateful day Sansa tried to forget. And now she was back. Was this child hers?

Sansa took the hand of her old friend and told her to rise.

"Of course, I remember you, Jeyne. Be the welcome in Winterfell. Who is your companion?"

The man rose at those words, his head still bowed reverently.

"He's my husband, my lady. And you know him too."

Sansa looked with more attention at the man before her. He looked old and yet, something was telling her he was not older than Sandor. Maybe was he even younger. This man had suffered. He had been tortured.

Then, the queen looked into his eyes. Oh gods, was it possible?

"Theon? Is that you?"

"Aye, my lady Sansa. It is me."

Theon Greyjoy let himself fall to the ground in front of his queen.

"I was a fool, Your Majesty. I did awful things and I regret them bitterly. I was tortured by the Boltons but Jeyne saved me."

Jeyne kneeled in front of Sansa too, taking her husband's hand in hers and smiling lovingly at him.

"You saved me first, from Ramsay Bolton. Petyr Baelish made me marry him you know."

Sansa was torn between the desire to take Jeyne in her arms and the wish to exile from her lands the man who had destroyed her castle and endangered her two younger brothers.

But then, looking at him… he had paid enough, hadn't he?

Sansa had hated so many people in those last years- Joffrey, Petyr, the members of the Council…

Maybe it was time to end this long list. After all, Bran and Rickon were alive and Winterfell had never looked better since she had ordered its renovation. New walls, some mosaics as pavement, and some frescoes painted by the finest artists in Westeros to decorate the keep and the lords and ladies' rooms. No marble, this was not Dorne after all, but a very nice stone-pretty and solid- that's what had been needed for the stairs. Petyr's money had had a good purpose, after all.

Sansa couldn't stop her eyes from peeking at the other side of the room. Sandor was playing with the child Jeyne and Theon had brought with them. He looked so adorable. All Sansa wanted was to rush by her husband's side and start playing with him too.

And how gentle and affectionate Sandor was with that baby. Where was the terrible hound who had frightened her so much when they first met? Where was the god of vengeance who had killed one by one the Council members who had killed their son?

Now, here he was, that formidable man, cooing at a baby like he was the most precious thing in the universe.

As astounding as it could sound to some incredulous people, Sandor Clegane would be as good a father as he was a good husband.

Who could have thought that this pitiless, drunken soldier could become such a good man? Love made miracles- her love and the Elder brother's prayers, of course.

Sandor saw her gaze on them and came next to her, putting the baby in her arms.

Gods, this was quite a wonderful feeling. Quite magical. It felt like that child was part of her, part of her flesh, of her blood.

Suddenly, the baby's eyes met hers and Sansa started to shake. This was Eddard. This was her son.

"He's got your eyes. Tully blue." Sandor smiled as he saw tears of joy running down his wife's pale cheeks.

"And my black hair. I'd bet you anything that this little bastard is going break some hearts in the years to come."

Sansa let a laugh escape her and nodded. He was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

"I had been hiding for some time with Jeyne" said Theon "But I knew what was happening in the castle. I knew the Council was up to no good. So when they put the baby at the edge of the woods, I was ready. I waited for them to be far enough and I took him with me. We took good care of him."

Jeyne smiled at him and nodded.

"Jeyne and I, we can't have children. Not after what the Boltons did to me" Theon added darkly.

Sandor shaked his head darkly and put his hand on Theon's shoulder.

"Thank you, Greyjoy. We owe a lot."

"Nevermind this" Theon replied "I had a debt. It was time for me to act the way I had been raised to."

Sansa raised her head and, between her tears, offered to Theon her brightest smile. "You did, Theon. You did. Robb would have been proud of you."

This seemed to touch him as Sansa noted that his eyes seemed to get a bit misty.

Gods, this was perfect, wasn't it? The man she loved and who loved her by her side, her son and another little pup to be born, Winterfell rebuilt, and now two of her childhood friends back from the dead.

What more could she wish for?

Maybe life wasn't a song… Maybe it was actually better. Sometimes.


End file.
